Torin, found

Carrying on from here. 

“Tonne street, Tonne street – yes, here it is. Stop here!”

The carriage had barely rolled to a stop before Bertram’s feet hit the cobbled street, still wet and dotted with puddles. A few stray raindrops dappled the shoulders of his coat as he peered up and down the lake shore, looking for the jetty.

He spied it a short distance away. “This is where they said,” he called over his shoulder to the driver, already moving. “I’ll be just over there. Wait for me!”

Bertram strode quickly but carefully, avoiding the puddles. Fear was tying his insides in knots, and had been for hours now, ever since he’d gotten home and found that Torin wasn’t there.

He had to be okay. He had to be.

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